viz. - books

And Now, A Reading from The Book of Bro

wiedner — Mon, 13 Oct 2014 00:56:26 +0000

Image Source: http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/bro

Brainstorming with my fellow viz. writers on matters related to book covers and the rhetoric thereof, I mentioned my interest in the Chick Lit phenomenon. After politely listening to the sound of a dead horse being dug up from its grave and beat relentlessly, there was a collective eye roll and sigh. For more reasons than I have time to list at the moment, I realized very quickly that the nonplussed reception was more than justified. We kept bouncing around ideas, and touched upon the question of whether there was a male equivalent of Chick Lit. Or, to use the term that our editor Rhiannon invented, is there such a thing as “Bro Books?”

It was an awesome idea, and what follows is my attempt to run with it.

So, let's talk Bro Books.

Before we can define what, exactly, constitutes a “bro book,” we need to define what, exactly, constitutes a “bro.” Derived from the word “brother,” people have been employing the term “bro” as far back as the 1600s; it was in the early 1900s that the term gained specificity and began being used to address someone (generally male) whom one was close with and fond of. http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/bro. More recently, however, the referent of the term “bro” has increased in specificity, losing some of its positive connotations. So we need to parse this out a bit more if we want to arrive at a solid working definition.

But where to begin?

“Bro-ness” is one of those you-know-it-when-you-see-it kind of things. In his excellent posting on the blog “codeswitch,” entitled “Jeah! We Mapped Out The 4 Basic Aspects Of Being A 'Bro,”’ author Gene Demby provides a great example of bros via gif:

"Y’all know who we mean. These cats right here:”

Image Source: http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/185wsu7f62b33gif/k-bigpic.gif

But Demby’s “Y’all know who we mean” is about as productive as the “you know it when you see it” that I spit out above as far as articulating a definition of a bro is concerned. Thankfully, Demby digs deeper for us, using a Venn Diagram to illustrate his definition of the quintessential bro as being equal parts (1) Jockish, (2) Stoner-ish, (3) Preppy, and (4) (my favorite) “Dude-ly.” http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch. Demby also provides some examples of bro behavior to fill out the picture, such as fist-bumping, posting pics with other bros doing “bro-ass things,” and “juggl[ing] a sporting life and [a] salubrious appetite for alcohol.” (Id.)

While this is all helpful, I feel as though Dembly misses the two most critical criteria of being a bro. For one thing, he doesn’t seem to account for the most “bro-ass” activity of them all: seeking out members of the opposite sex for romantic dalliances (read: bar hopping in search of drunken casual sex). He seems to forget that, even among bros that are “super tight,” there’s no bromance strong enough to completely supersede a bro’s fundamental desire to hit the bars and “chase some tail.” Put simply, while it is irrefutablely true that bros like watching a football game together, there’s a reason that they’re frequently doing so at Hooter’s that deserves consideration.

I would also humbly suggest that Demby also gives short shrift to what I see as the second definitive characteristic of bro-ness. Specifically, a bro is always conscious of whether they’re “looking the part,” regardless of whether they acknowledge that “the part” is that of a bro (I would describe this to my undergraduates as the bro’s ethos). The aim is to present one’s self as the guy who’s “cool” enough to afford his $65 pair of J. Crew cargo shorts, but “chill” enough not to notice that they don’t match the throwback Chicago Cubs jersey that he’s rocking on top. (After all, what could possibly be more un-bro than worrying about stuff like whether your hat looks cooler forwards or backwards or slightly askew when there’s a cooler full of brew-dogs that need a poundin’! Am I right, Bro?! Fist-bumps!!)

We can further refine out definition by looking at what a bro is not. As I am defining a bro for present purposes, age is of little relevance. While the definition we’ve been refining has probably painted a picture of a young individual, you can be a bro at any age whatsoever. Replace the J. Crew cargos and Cubs jersey mentioned above with Dockers and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and you’ve got the same bro, except with several more decades of bro-ing it out under his belt. It would appear Demby agrees with me on the (in)significance of age in defining “bro,” given that age is not at all invoked in his comprehensive “4 Pillars” theory and accompanying diagram (see above). Demby and I also seem to agree that the propriety of using race as a defining characteristic of a bro is troubled, at best. Demby set out to determine whether the term “bro” had a racial component to it, his research did not show that any such component existed, at least not one that’s consistently agreed upon. (Id.)

Now that we have put together a working definition of “bro,” can we finally define the term “bro books?”

Well, kinda.

Remaining consistent with the mode of analysis we’ve been employing thusfar, let’s illuminate via illustration what we mean when we talk about “bro books.” Below is the quintessence of a bro book collection.

Image Source: The Private Collection of viz.'s Resident Dude

Because the totality of a collection of bro books is as important as the presence of any particular book, it is important to look at the collection as a whole. For the bro, the physicality of his books (individually and collectively) is the first and foremost consideration. Just as was the case with bro clothing, bro books need to look as though they were simply “thrown together” by the bro in question. A neatly organized shelf of books would be anything but “chill.” Further, having many books of the same genre, author, historical period, etc. might appear as though there’s a particular topic that a bro cares deeply about, which is not at all in keeping with the bro’s MO. So, each book is carefully chosen in and of itself and in its relation to the collection as a whole. Almost invariably, the “audiences” the bro has in mind are (1) fellow bros who have come over for a bro-ass activity, or (2) a woman the bro would like to impress. Let's look at a sample from the above collection of bro books:

1. Anything by Chuck Palahniuk. Preferably “Fight Club,” but any of his others will do. This one’s aimed at the audience of fellow bros more than the female object of his desire.

2. Anything by Hemingway. Preferably more than one title.

3. “The Complete Guitarist.” It says that you have other interests and skills, and playing the most bro-ass instrument of them all is one of those pastimes.

4. A law textbook. In this case, “Torts,” by Richard Wright. An impressive looking law-related book is an absolute must for any collection deserving of the name “bro books.” I mean, just look at it! Heavy. Dense. The no-nonsense cover is supposed to be taken as representative of the nature of its contents, as well as the contents of the bro's character.

5. “100 Love Sonnets,” by Pablo Neruda. He may seem like just another beer-chugging jock, but he appreciates perusing poetry as much as he does “whaling on his pecs at the gym.” This suggests that that the lucky lady surveying this collection might even have some poetry read to her! (Fingers crossed!)

6. Collections of articles from “The Onion.” Guaranteed to get serious bro-grabs (excessively masculine versions of hugs).

Obviously, there’s much more that could be said about this bro book collection, but you get the idea.

In the end, then, the answer to this posting's original question would be in the affirmative, but in very different ways than are generally considered when seeking to identify categories of readers and/or reading. There are most certainly individual books as well as personal collections of books that could properly be called “bro books.” However, since one of their unifying characteristics is the attempt to have no unifying characteristics, it is hard to define bro books as a genre, per se. It would appear as though a book’s physical appearance, along with the cultural cache of title or author are the aspects of what gives a book its bro-ness. In creating and/or identifying a bro book collection, the actual words on any of the pages between those covers is an ancillary concern at best.

All of this should be taken with a grain of salt, of course. I am by no means the bro-thority on the nuances of bro-dome.

Tags:

rhetoric

Visual Rhetoric

books

book covers

bros

popular culture

Words, Words, Words: Judging Hamlet by its Cover

Deb Streusand — Mon, 06 Oct 2014 19:49:59 +0000

Image Credit: Syed Hunbbel Meer

A text that people have been reading and publishing for hundreds of years is bound to have had a variety of covers in that time. William Shakespeare’s Hamlet has not only seen many printed editions in the years since it was first published in 1603, but has been produced in book form by many different publishers in recent years. This wealth of modern covers of Hamlet shows how publishers have interpreted what is significant and what is saleable about the play. Many of the covers show the most famous image from the play: Hamlet with the skull in his hand.

Image Credit: Usborne Children's Books

The cover of this children’s illustrated Hamlet, by Usborne’s Children’s Books, gives the most literal rendering of what Hamlet actually does with the skull in the play. In roughly Renaissance dress, Hamlet holds the skull in a Christian graveyard, making what appears to be direct eye contact with it. He is even right in front of an open grave, presumably Ophelia’s. However, what this interpretation changes about the story is that Hamlet is alone, without Horatio or the First Gravedigger to keep him company. The illustrator sees Hamlet as alone in the world, and perhaps assumes that there is something about this feeling of solitude with which children will identify.

Image Credit: pagepulp.com

Image Credit: Penguin Shakespeare

Some Hamlets for adults also show Hamlet with a skull in his hand, trading on the familiarity of the image. However, these covers do not show Hamlet’s full body, focusing instead on the head of the man who is perhaps literature’s most famously contemplative character. In pairing the dead and empty skull with Hamlet’s active brain, the covers suggest Hamlet’s engagement with the idea of death and foreshadow the play’s violent ending. The Laurel Shakespeare cover shows an ambiguously costumed Hamlet in silhouette, suggesting a potentially dangerous and also modernized Hamlet appropriate to the “modern commentary” that the cover offers. The Penguin Shakespeare, often assigned in schools, shows a less threatening, somewhat cartoonish Hamlet in vaguely Renaissance dress. It warns students to expect something old-fashioned, but still implies that the play is concerned with death.

Image Credit: Wikipedia

Even the Klingon translation of Hamlet shows Hamlet holding the skull. In his other hand, he holds a bat’leth, a traditional Klingon weapon, implying that he may be about to kill himself or someone else (the bat’leth would make it easier to do the latter) at any moment. Amusingly, this Klingon Hamlet has the most detailed Renaissance dress of any of the images of Hamlet I found in my quest. The image suggests authenticity through Hamlet’s clothing, the stereotypical skull, and the castle setting. However, it also clearly shows the adaptation at work, portraying a bat’leth rather than a “bare bodkin” and putting the Klingon quote on the cover along with its translation. The Klingon Hamlet was inspired by a line in the movie Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, in which Chancellor Gorkon claims, “You have not experienced Shakespeare until you have read him in the original Klingon.” Hence, the “original Klingon” version both claims authenticity and shows its uniquely Klingon nature.

Image Credit: Amazon.com

Some recent scholarly editions of Hamlet have chosen covers that do not show the skull at all, or even Hamlet. The Oxford World’s Classics edition of Hamlet shows a portrait of Shakespeare by Max Jacob, though the black-clad figure in vaguely Renaissance clothing against a dark background could easily be mistaken for Hamlet himself. This cover for a scholarly edition makes the genius of Shakespeare the most important thing about Hamlet, not the stereotypical conception of Hamlet’s relationship to death. The New Cambridge Shakespeare uses a black-and-white photograph of hands, gloved in white and black, holding fencing foils. This complex image curiously suggests a morally simple play, but one relevant to modern times and with stylized violence at its heart. Both of these scholarly editions show the publisher’s interpretation of what Hamlet is about and what will make Hamlet sell – not Hamlet himself, but Shakespeare the man and modern relevance respectively.

Image Credit: Amazon.com

The Folger and Arden scholarly editions not only banish Hamlet from their covers, but also invite a different character to grace them, albeit without showing her face. The Folger cover symbolizes the presence of Ophelia by portraying water and flowers, suggesting her death scene without literally showing it on the cover. This milder but equally moving version of death suggests the play’s descriptive beauty, while also evoking recent feminist readings of the play that emphasize Ophelia’s role and significance. The Arden cover shows Ophelia more explicitly, but still incompletely, with a photograph of a headless body draped in a loose dress, holding flowers that appear to be dead. The posture of the body suggests that it is living, but the dried-looking flowers imply that death is inevitable. The person portrayed could also be Gertrude, about to strew dead flowers on Ophelia’s grave. Either way, the cover emphasizes the female characters in the play while demonstrating how trapped they are by the intrigue around them and its deadly results. Both the Folger and Arden covers show attractive images that are no less dominated by the inevitability of death than those that actually show the skull.

The wide variety of covers shows the different ways in which publishers today choose to sell a play that is so well known and has such a high level of cultural capital. Most of the covers don’t have to tell you what happens in the play, or that Hamlet is worth your while, but they do have to tell you why you should buy this particular edition. The artistic covers of the scholarly editions suggest their level of sophistication, arguing that you will be buying the version with notes of the highest quality. The Klingon Hamlet cover shows that it is both humorous and somehow true to the spirit of the original play. The non-scholarly adult Hamlets, for those who are looking to have a somewhat mysterious play made clear to them by the version they buy, show a stereotypical image of Hamlet holding the skull, making it clear that this is the play you think it is. Finally, the children’s Hamlet, which does to some degree have to tell its audience what happens in the play, gives the most accurate portrayal of the setting in which Hamlet holds the skull. Each edition pitches itself as a superior choice for its target audience though the cover image it uses. None of the images, however, not even the children’s one, can entirely avoid the shadow of death.

Tags:

books

Visual Rhetoric

audience

Taste vs. Enjoyment

Rhiannon Goad — Tue, 30 Sep 2014 01:02:12 +0000

By accident, books on my nightstand fall into two piles: those which I should read and those which I want to read. In my current situation, coursework determines my should pile. The want pile consists of, well, books I read even though no one is making me. My haphazard nightstand organization is not meant to defend the divisions between high art and low culture—what gets counted as Literature with a capital L and what’s categorized as trash reflects hierarchies of race, class, gender, and nationality. My piles of books merely echo a more general conversation about the canon, one that is particularly active in English courses.

I was curious how the people around me perceived popular novels. Inspired by New York Magazine’s Approval Matrix, I wanted to visualize the taste versus enjoyment conundrum. I asked people to indicate their perception of each novel you see on this chart. Because this project is about perception,respondents did not need to have read the book to provide a response. Using a Likert-style scale, people ranked books along two binary spectra: highbrow/lowbrow (taste) and entertaining/boring (enjoyment.) This chart illustrates over 170 anonymous responses.

Given that I primarily circulated the survey through graduate student listservs, the results likely aren’t representative of the population at large (e.g., some said they perceive Uylesses as more entertaining than 50 Shades of Grey). However, they do show some interesting things about how books are perceived among English graduate students at UT and the people to whom they forward surveys (like our moms.) Here are some of those things:

Books by African American authors received about the same scores for both taste and enjoyment with one exception—Beloved by Toni Morrison
Books by ladies were generally less highbrow than books by dudes (but not by a lot)
Stereotypically “trashy” genres—horror, fantasy, and science fiction—were generally rated as more entertaining and less highbrow than their more "serious" counterparts
Atlas Shrugged is too damn long, even for some of these nerds

Books in graph: 1984 / A Handmaid's Tale / A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy / Atlas Shrugged / Beloved / Brave New World / Carrie / Catcher in the Rye / Fifty Shades of Grey / Good in Bed / Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone / Hunger Games / Little Women / Native Son / Orlando / Slaughterhouse-Five / The Color Purple / The Great Gatsby / The Hobbit / The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe / The Lord of the Flies / The Old Man and the Sea / The Runaway Jury / The Sound and the Fury / Their Eyes Were Watching God / Twilight / The World According to Garp / Ulysses

Can't see the graph? Zoom in!

Book covers from Wikipedia.

Chart by me.

Thanks to Jenn for the heads up on DWF's syllabi.

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